


A Gnorc of a Different Color

by LaughingLombax



Category: Spyro the Dragon (Video Games)
Genre: Armor, Dragons, Fantasy, Humor, Painting, Slapstick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingLombax/pseuds/LaughingLombax
Summary: Post-"Spyro the Dragon" (aka, the first game).  Gnasty gets crafty after his humbling defeat by the claws of the young Spyro the Dragon. With a final attempt to redeem himself, Lord Gnasty has one more trick up his sleeve to take over the Five Worlds. Will Spyro and Sparx see through the ruse?





	1. Getting the Plan Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spyro the Dragon is my childhood video game. The little quips, the colorful worlds, the individual personalities of each character and enemy (Tree Tops *shudders*) made it an instant classic in my opinion. This is a work in progress, but I wanted to share what I have so far. This is also a short story, nothing too deep.
> 
> I apologize in advance, but I assume that people reading this will already know what happened beforehand in the first game and will make the connections with some of what I write.

Gnasty didn’t feel the same after losing a battle to that little purple hatchling. Whereas the much older, taller dragons were all talk and cowered before the mighty Gnorc and his enchanted golden mace, this pipsqueak was quiet, fast, and menacing in his attacks. “He just barged in my front door and started torching everything in sight!” Gnasty huffed, still blinking away spots in his vision from the bright flames. “No time to wait for a perfectly practice monologue or nothin’!” He sighed and slumped a little in his throne.

“Beaten on my own home field,” Gnasty pouted, tapping with a sharp green claw his golden helmet laying on the arm of his seat. “I had thousands servants sent out, several doors locked, portals guarded, and they all fell before this hatchling’s purple mittens!” Although, he couldn’t even bring himself to mention those too-large-for-his-head golden horns of the dragon’s. Those things smarted even for him. “And that fire breath! Not only does it burn the warts off a toad, but it stank to high Tree Tops! What did he even eat for breakfast? Hm. Does this ‘Spyro the Dragon’ even eat at all?” Gnasty licked his lips of his last meal of pork and flies, the usually pleasant flavor stolen from him like his kingdom. “All I ever saw was him torching those innocent sheep and watched that sick dragonfly gorge himself on the leftovers.” He shivered and let his tongue lay out in disgust. “And they think I’m a monster.”

Frowning, he pounded his fist on the side of his throne. He had been so close to ruling the whole Five Worlds. “I had my right to do what I did! Those dragons had it commin’, with their flapping mouths insulting every creature that didn’t wear scales. I’m a revolutionist under their haughty reign!” He thought about all those dragons he encased in crystal pods, sealing their mouths for good. The silence was refreshing.

Irked, he also unwillingly recalled that news interview that he managed to catch while flipping through the television networks. Those horrible things they said, about him! “Me? ‘Simple’? I think my plan was well thought out. I made it farther than any other character there in the Five Worlds.” And his new reign was almost complete, except for one small detail. How did he miss spotting Spyro? That nuisance!

With a hefty sigh, however, he relinquished his heated anger and slouched again. “It’s no use, I’m just no good as a liberator.”

Some attending Gnorcs by the door of his throne room yelped at his confession. “But, sire!” One croaked, trembling at what might happen to the Gnorcs if their leader stepped down. “Who else will free us?”

“Try asking Spyro, if he’ll give you the chance.”

The other attendant pulled off his brown cap and wrung it between his webbed fingers. “Uh...but he torches Gnorcs on sight, sire. My brother’s got a real big scar on his belly, almost makes him look like a dragon too, and I don’t think I’ve mentioned that I’m pyrophobic--?”

“What was that?” Gnasty jumped from his throne, frightening the two attendants to the point that their knees knocked.

“Nothing, sire!” The former Gnorc slapped the other’s mouth shut. “He’s just in shock from your--our--his recent defeat.”

“Oh, no he didn't! He said something else,” Gnasty stormed forward, dwarfing the already small Gnorcs, “something actually impressive for an underling!” He spun back around and paced to the other side of the grey stone chamber. The two attendants heaved a big sigh in unison, dropping to the floor in relief.

“Look like a dragon...” Gnasty muttered and began to cackle. “Marcus? Give Ludo here a pat on the back for me. We may have one more shot at revolution.”

 

The blacksmiths were put to work in any and every available fire source, making delicate chainmail for each Gnorc in the castle. They were tailored to size; a size too big or small was unacceptable and the unfortunate blacksmith was banished to the dungeon if one detail was off.

Gnasty had a way of promoting hard work in the people. Effective and to the point. “Just what we need in a leader,” his subjects would say. They were allowed to say other words of praise from the script handed to them daily, but this one was the fastest way to pay tribute to their master.

Once the chainmail was perfected, vats of paint were poured into the rivers until the castle grounds looked like a rainbow of dyes. Each of the Gnorcs wearing their armor waded through the rivers, even up and over their heads, until they reached the other side. Once there, they were assigned specific tails, wings, and horns to wear.

The castle was suddenly full of bright and colorful “dragons” and they assembled before a large blue “dragon-Gnorc” in the throne room. “My fellow Gnorcs!” Gnasty roared, lifting his golden scepter high for everyone to see. “Today we will storm the Five Worlds and take them by force! We will free each world from the rule of the dragons through deception! We will assign teams to invade each world and gain the trust of the dragons living there. Within due time, the signal will be given and we will strike down the oppressors!”

“Strike the oppressors! Strike the oppressors!” The crowds cheered in unison.

“We’ll see who’s the simple creature now,” Gnasty laughed under his breath as he watched his subjects march through their assigned portals and into the unsuspecting worlds.

* * * * * * * * * *

“C’ mon, Spyro,” the little golden firefly flew frantically in front of the purple dragon. “You’re pullin’ my wing, right. There’s no way the Inheritance Cycle is a rip-off of Lord of the Rings.”

“I’m only telling ya what I know,” Spyro snorted.

“But that’s plagiarism! Who would just copy and paste someone else’s story into their own book? Where’s the creativity? The originality?”

The two were patrolling the base of the walls of the castle in the Artisans World, a bright and joyful world, very much fairytale in its makeup, which is probably what ignited their current discussion. Though friends for the longest time, gone through many battles together—even faced Gnasty Gnorc in his fortress—the two were still unpredictable to each other in their own ways.

“I dunno, Sparx,” Spyro continued, seeing how downhearted the dragonfly seemed after hearing the truth. “Some people might say that imitation is the highest form of flattery.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see anyone suddenly sprouting a second pair of wings and evolving into dragonflies around here! What do you say to that? After we beat the big toad, I thought we’d get some praise.”

Spyro only shook his head and laughed, holding back some information he was certain the dragonfly wouldn’t handle well.

The dragonfly’s color changed dramatically from blue to green and back to bright yellow again. “Wait a minute…you didn’t—!”

“The press wanted to hear the story, so I couldn’t very well wait for you to come back from your ‘vacation’ to tell them.”

Sparx’s body began to glow a new color, a vibrant red. “You mean to tell me that you took all the credit? What? Couldn’t bother to mention a little dragonfly you used as a living shield to get you out of all those scrapes?”

Spyro stopped walking as the bug flew inches from his face. “Whoa! I, uh, didn’t think I needed to. Everyone knows who you are, Sparx!” His friend didn’t seem convinced. The dragon searched his brain for something to say and calm his friend down. “Remember Delbin?”

“That beefy dude with the pink wings?”

“Well, he’s your biggest fan! Ever since we started freeing the dragons, he told each and every one of them about that dinky purple dragon and the mighty golden dragonfly that were out saving the Five Worlds!”

Sparx’s color slowly turned back to normal as he considered his friend’s words. “Did he really say, ‘mighty’?”

“As large as life, those were his words.” The two began patrolling leisurely again.

The little bug beamed bright as he reconsidered the nature of Delbin. “Hm! And I always thought he was a muscle head, too.”

“Even muscle heads know a hero when they see one,” Spyro couldn’t help but puff his chest out and hold his head up higher.

A portal they were about to pass began to glimmer and ripple in the stone arch. They paused to watch and see who the newcomer might be. The rippling became more profound until the portal spat out a small red dragon, which tumbled over itself in a sloppy landing.

“You alright?” Spyro tramped forward.

“Either the portal’s broken or that’s the weirdest lookin’ dragon I ever saw,” Sparx grimaced as he observed the short neck and fat arms of the newcomer. Spyro glared up at the bug and then down at the deformed dragon. “I’m just saying,” the dragonfly continued as the red dragon stood up on its hind paws and revealed an even shorter, almost nonexistent, muzzle as well, “those Beast Makers dragons were odd looking enough. But this guy takes the cake.”

“Will you zip it already?” Spyro returned his focus to the dragon and swallowed down a shiver of revolt at the multiple deformities. The portly belly, the large eyes, and those too-large-for-his-head horns were distracting enough for him to nearly forget his introduction. “I, uh, haven’t seen you around here. My name’s Spyro—”

The red dragon yelped and knocked his fat knees together as he noticed who was addressing him.

The dragon shared a look with the dragonfly and they both lifted an eyebrow. “Uh, where are you from? You don’t look like any Artisans dragon.”

“Or Beast Makers—hey!” Sparx shoved Spyro’s sharp horns away from his side and stuck his tongue out at him.

The visitor’s trembling didn’t cease, but he proceeded to pull out a letter tucked strangely under his lifeless wings. He unrolled the scroll and read awkwardly, “I come on behalf of the Lost World’s Artifice dragons. After a freak accident that no one can say how it happened—so don’t ask—we were left drifting in another dimension and were outlandishly transformed to the flightless, obese and inane—well, that’s not nice—dragons that you see before you. Now that we have managed to return, we seek refuge in the Five Worlds since our home world is now occupied by the lovable, humorous, and glorious leader of the Gnorcs, Lord Gnasty.” He began rolling the scroll up with his forepaws and looking everywhere but at the purple dragon.

“Yeah, we’ve met. Charming dude,” Sparx replied sarcastically.

“Artifice dragons?” Spyro thought back. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of ‘em. But if that toad booted you out of your home, I guess you can crash here for a bit, until we can find a better solution.” The red dragon started looking around the ground and picked up a big stone. “Uh, how many of you are there?”

The two heroes watched blankly as the Artifice dragon threw the stone through the portal, rippling the magic like a puddle. No sooner did the ripple cease than it started back up again with more violent waves. Out tumbled hundreds of deformed dragons of a wide array of colors from both sides of the portal and into the castle court. They all stood up and dusted their knees and tails, observing their new, bright surroundings.

Spyro and Sparx gaped at the vast sea of dragons. Unsettled by the immense amount of round eyes suddenly washing over him, Spyro grinned and began back trotting down the path he and Sparx had just come. “Let me just check you all in.” Turning around, he and Sparx quickly retreated.

“You know,” the dragonfly looked over his shoulder. “I think I spotted a purple one in there. For your sake, I hope you’re not actually related to those salamanders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did make reference to Paolini's "Inheritance Cycle" and Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" in this chapter. I in no way am saying that either are bad or that Paolini's series really is a plagiarism of "Lord of the Rings," it's just what I've heard people jokingly tell me. What I am saying is that I guess they're both so famous that they've made it to the bookstores in Spyro's world!
> 
> In all honesty, I read "Eragon" first and fell in love with it. I've read the whole series up until the final book. It's on my shelf, but that size is rather daunting and I've fallen out of the rhythm of reading those books after waiting so long for that last one to come out.  
> But enough about me!
> 
> Another note is that any dragon I mention by name is from the first game. The underling Gnorcs, on the other hand, are all made up.


	2. Fly In the Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gnasty's plan is going, well, as planned as he's invited to join the Counsel of Artisans to work on a solution to contain the increase in Artifice Dragons across the Five Worlds; Spyro plans a surprise for Sparx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't finish it as quickly as I would have liked, but I wasn't sitting at my desk twiddling my thumbs for the past few weeks. To ensure people that I'm still working on it, here's the next installment. Next time I update (hopefully) I'll have this story finished!

At the Counsel of Artisans, Nestor, Tomas, Gavin, and Astor were all discussing the recent appearances of the Artifice dragons across the Five Worlds. “The Dream Weavers are having a particularly hard time keeping them under control,” Tomas pointed out as they gathered in the castle, “what with their flightlessness and all. They need to be transported from place to place, somehow.”

“Agreed,” Nestor nodded, green scales flashing against the walls. “Perhaps the Magic Crafters could conjure some walkways for them or at least the Beast Makers could build more balloons.”

“Well, I think Gnasty there needs to be kicked out of his castle and give back what rightfully belongs to the Artifice dragons!” The big blue dragon’s voice boomed through the halls.

“It’s easier said than done, Gavin, and you know it,” Nestor scolded with an even look at the hotheaded dragon. “Tomas could tell you just how hard it was to simply infiltrate the fortress during his secret operation, let alone traverse it.”

The elderly grey dragon, Astor, piped up at the thought of telling a story. “Oh! I love a good fairytale. With a princess, a knight, and a dragon. A very, very handsome dragon named Astor. Mum used to tell me that one when I was a hatchling.”

“An interesting story, I’m sure, but all this will have to wait until we can figure out a solution about these, uh, dragons.” Neston cleared his throat and gestured towards the doorway behind him. “Which is why we have contacted their highest elder to help us. With his help, hopefully things will be under control soon.”

A buff blue dragon strutted in and immediately squared off with Gavin. The newcomer was of a lighter blue than his much taller opponent, but appeared just as brutal. “You think you can simply storm Lord Gnasty’s castle, eh?” He poked the other’s scaly chest. “Just how much of a simpleton do you think he is?”

“Gentlemen,” Neston cleared his throat even louder this time. “If we are to get anywhere in securing a more permanent home for our guests, we must learn to get along with one another. Now,” the green elder sighed, regretting what obviously came next in their introduction. And of course he had to be the one to say it, “This is the Highest Elder to the Artifice Dragons, Grand Ambassador…Midge.”

Tomas covered his muzzle to prevent a bubbling laughter from escaping. However, Astor laughed until he wheezed, which didn’t take long in his old age, and Gavin roared with amusement until the walls nearly shook with it.

Neston held his head with his forepaw and heaved a long sigh. “This is going to take a long time.”

But ‘Midge’ wasn’t all he appeared to be. He was not only as strong as he appeared, but he was also cunning. He had chosen this name, expecting that it might let the dragons guard down, never to believe that he could possibly be a threat to them. In fact, this blue ‘dragon’ was none other than Gnast Gnorc himself! How the Counsel of Artisans didn’t see a familiar, froggy face under all the blue paint was anyone’s guess, but Gnasty thought his plan was coming along brilliantly.

Within the week, Gnasty was certain that he would be in control of the Five Worlds once again. But this time, he would take into account all possible threats to his power to ensure that his reign would endure permanently.

“Thank you,” Gnasty ground out, the act of reverence, even if pretended, alien to him, “for the introduction, dear Neston. And I assure all of you that, with my help, all our troubles will be laid to rest.” About six feet under, he thought to himself. Maybe deeper, if he had the time to build such a tomb for the dragons after crowning himself supreme ruler.

*******

Spyro and Sparx had been taking a walk together on Stone Hill, trying to space themselves from the Artifice Dragons as much as possible. For some reason, they all feared the little purple dragon.

“Well, better you than me,” Sparx harrumphed. “That way I might be able to achieve some popularity with ‘em.”

“But I thought you said they were—”

“I know what I said! And, to some extent, I still mean it. Don’t expect me to become overly attached to any of those flat-faced lizards. But maybe they’ll know a true hero when they see one, unlike certain Artisans I know.”

Spyro was about to argue back when someone called from above them.

“Spyro, my boy!” A jovial blue dragon called from on top of his watchtower. The purple dragon and yellow dragonfly looked up as Gildas stretched his red wings. “How’s about some gliding practice? I’m bored stiff up here and could use the exercise.”

“Sure,” Spyro eagerly ran into the tower and into the magic lift. As the magic pulled him up, he waited until he was high enough and hopped onto the battlement next to his friend.  
“Alright then! Now, you stay here and keep watch while I go practice.”

The purple dragon’s face fell. Sparx snickered behind him, glittering with each suppressed laugh. “He got you, buddy!”

Gildas laughed as well. “I wasn’t talking to Spyro.”

It was Spyro’s turn to laugh and Sparx to stare. “Good one, Gildas!”

“I know. I can be such a card at times!” He jumped off the tower and unfurled his wings, catching an updraft and hovering above them. “First sign of danger, Sparx, you go into the castle wall and speak with Lindar.” He let out a snort. “But like anything ever happens all the way out here!”

Sparx stammered out a complaint or two, but Spyro just smiled and jumped off as well, catching the same updraft and gliding off with the older dragon ahead of him. “Thanks, Gildas,” he said as he curved upwards and dropped down steeply to increase his speed.

“No problem,” the big dragon replied. “But what are you thanking me for, again?”

“For saving me from Sparx!”

“I hardly believe he would do you any harm,” the elder said, not quite understanding what Spyro had meant.

“He’s been obsessed with fame! I can’t even open my mouth without him claiming that I stole all the attention from him. I could be talking about Attack Frogs and he’d somehow turn that around to accuse me of taking all the credit for what happened.”

“Well, did you?”

Spyro at first wanted to say no, but then thought about it some more. “I guess I had a claw in the limelight,” he mumbled. “But it’s not like anyone could have forgotten Sparx. He’s the whole reason my scales aren’t decorating some Gnorc’s dirty ol’ yurt wall.”

“Maybe you do owe your friend something more than a simple thanks and be on your way.”

“Like what? The press isn’t interested anymore and everyone seems to have moved on from thinking about Gnasty.”

They flew for a while in silence, taking a turn around the outside of Stone Hill’s wall and swooping down towards the ocean, letting a water wake underneath them.

Suddenly, Spyro perked up and gave an energetic flap of his wings. “I think I might have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious about why I chose Gnasty's cover-name to be "Midge" (cough) which, I assume not many are, so I put this at the bottom (cough-cough) it's because I always thought, growing up, that the spelling for "Gnasty" made me think of "gnat". With a little lazy research via the internet, I found that another bug similar to the gnat is called a "midge".  
> And if there's anything I've realized while writing this is that this story is made on the fly and will require editing in the future.


End file.
